


Words Change Everything

by susiephalange



Series: This Is Our Vice [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Reader, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Guardians of the Galaxy spoilers, Hydra (Marvel), I don't name anything though, Outer Space, Peter is a Little Shit, Post-Movie: Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiephalange/pseuds/susiephalange
Summary: He just wants to keep you (HYDRA-test subject, seasoned warrior, new hero) safe from battle. You just want to redeem yourself from the blood on your hands.





	Words Change Everything

**Author's Note:**

> A request from my Wattpad. I based the story around the song '[I Can't Save You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJCdu_0fp7Q)', by Cub Sport, and I recommend listening to it while reading.

You were alone in your bunk, your feet hooked into the ceiling boards firmly, dangling from the roof. You did this often to de-stress, and as the only Guardian who had naturally the ability to fly (well, you could jump abnormally well, but flying sounded cooler) you were often to perch in places anyone else would shy away from. The stress of the day was not over something trivial, like how Groot often left places stained with chlorophyll (an easy fix), or how Drax would sneak your food from the common area and try to eat it in front of you (okay, that wasn’t trivial, and if the Destroyer did that one more time, you’d knock him into next week).

No.

Peter Quill knew you were a capable fighter. A good warrior. A valuable member of the team, who kept the order of the Galaxy along with the rest of the gang.

You felt like you had always had your abilities, and while your sister Jessica had been sent to live with the rich Walker family, you had been shipped away, never to see her again. While she got to grow up as a normal teenager, you were given to HYDRA, who manipulated you until you were stronger than the two teens you were locked away with. They sent you in missiles to test your durability, crashing you into places to impact war, but see if they could breed ‘a one-woman military’. You killed the crew who were to send you to crash into the Saharan Desert, and because of that, you were instead shot into space for lack of coordinates.

Nova Corps had saved you, and adopted in by the Guardians, you worked hard to undo the things that they had made you do, what they had driven you to do. You were only young, though – and redemption did not come easy, nor smoothly. You had plenty of saving the galaxy to do before the blood was cleansed from your hands.

Which led you to what made you climb up and hang upside down by your toes. It was a non-violent way to meditate, and with the somewhat lack of gravity in your room (a request you made to keep flexible on un Terran-like planets), and kept you from grabbing handfuls of your teammate, and boyfriend’s hair and pulling at it.

He knew you were a capable fighter, and yet, he had side-lined you for simple quests while the firefight was going on planetside. Your eyes were closed, and yet, you could sense a presence in the doorway of your room, and without looking, you slid your feet from their place, and landed upon them with ease.

It was only then you looked to see who was there, and upon seeing, scoffed, and turned away. Peter Quill stood there, his quad blasters at his side, hair mussed from battle, breathless and slightly dirtied from his bout with aggravated alien lifeforms. But all of that was seen in half a second, and now you looked at the décor of your bunk room – which was sparse – instead of his dorky face.

“Since when am I not an equal to everyone else?” You demand, still staring at the blank walls of the wall behind your bed. You heard Peter hesitate, taking time to decide whether to confront your evident anger, but taking a step toward you, you feel a hand placed upon your shoulder. You move your shoulder as to allow his hand to fall off, and face him. “Don’t touch me until you tell me your answer. You know about what I’ve done, _Star-Prince_ ,” you mock. “Tell. Me.”

“I love you,” he considers your eyes, the words tumbling out softly. “I don’t want to…I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You laugh at that, ignoring the sentiments. “Hurt? I may not have been a child soldier, or a genetically engineered racoon, or whatever the hell Drax is,” you feel your pulse racing, eyes narrowing, “I’m invincible, hell, I survived being shot into space!”

Peter goes to speak again, but you put up a finger, silencing him. Before he can get a word in, Gamora enters your quarters, and rummages through your drawers for a weapon you must have forgotten to return. She barely notices the standoffish nature of the pair of you, and taking the sword in her hands, points it toward the doorway.

“Stop your childish quarrelling, both of you,” she snaps, eerily calm. “Groot has declared war on your record collection in the hangar, Quill.”

His eyebrows skyrocket. “Why didn’t you stop him? They’re retro!”

“They’re you’re records, Peter,” Gamora shrugs, and on her way out of the room, adds, “Plus, I did it last time.”

Peter puts a finger up to you, and starts to rush out the door, but before leaving, looks at you firmly in the eyes, utters, “I don’t care how jacked up you think you are from those assholes who took you,” the words are gritted, hardly heard through his teeth, “You’re not fighting in battle. I don’t want to lose you too.”

He disappears, off to save his precious records (which he seemingly cared more for than your strained relationship), and you turn to kick the wall with as much force as you can muster. But all that leaves you with is a sore foot, and dent in the metal wall of the Milano, and fuming on your bed.

“Says the guy who saved the galaxy with a stupid dance off,” you mutter, curling on yourself to cradle your sore foot.

* * *

Two weeks pass without a single mission; you’re complying with Peter’s orders, even though he’s your lover, not your damn father. Well, the reason you’re not out is because nobody is. It’s sort of a break between breaks, leaving the team to their own devices as the heroes they are for hire. Rocket wanted to stop on a planet called Mercator for pugnat beam reactors, and Drax needed to get out (cabin fever with him was never pretty), and thus, you all docked upon Mercator.

You keep Groot close, the minute _Flora Colossus_ sitting upon your shoulder as you stretch your legs with a fresh breath of air. But when you hear shouts, and smell smoke, you realise what is happening. From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar face, perhaps from a galactic-wide wanted poster, wreaking havoc in the market square. You feel adrenaline in your legs, your hands forming fists before you remember the conversation.

“I’ve got to sit this one out, buddy,” you tell Groot, taking a deep sigh.

Groot huffs, “ _I am_ Groot.”

You roll your eyes, but find a seat nearby out of the way of the chaos, and flick a message to the rest of the Guardians of the arising situation. You could have handled the situation in a few blows, a shot from your hidden weapon, and a whole lot of sass. But even though Peter didn’t seem to respect your independence, you respected that decision of his (however dastardly it was to abide by) and while the villagers were running for their lives and the Guardians hustled to get to the battle.

Groot natters a little, climbing slowly down your front to sit beside you on the bench. As he talks to himself, you watch as the four Guardians rush in on the attack. Gamora wields two swords, Drax with his knives, Rocket with an absurdly large gun, Peter with his quad blasters locked and loaded to kill. The gargantuan alien has already devoured few innocents, trampling over things it was not supposed to. You watched as Gamora worked at the hind, hiking up to a height to probably slice through the spinal cord. Drax was shouting at the monster, keeping its eyes trained from where Peter and Rocket shot at it at opposite points. But it seemed to not be working; every time Gamora jumped to kill, the swords would miss the critical point, or she would be knocked aside by the tail. Drax almost had a bite taken from him, but as usual, he seemed not to be phased by it. Peter and Rocket seemed to be running out of shots.

Gamora was then knocked to the ground, her swords too far to reach. Rocket was tossed aside, smacked into a pillar. Drax was stabbing at the front, somehow missing out from most of the carnage. It was when Peter was hit when you stood.

“Stay here,” you tell Groot.

“I _am_ Groot.” He replies, and nodding, you dash toward the melee.

You don’t think about how your sister is, or if she’s still alive, or if you’ll ever see her again if you make it back to Earth. You don’t think about the argument you had, or your life, or if it could end here, no.

You think about Peter.

You skirt around the battle, so that you grab one of Gamora’s swords, and taking out your hidden blaster, you shoot once upon the radical extra-terrestrial’s hide, “Hey!” you shout, taking another shot into the air, brandishing the broadsword before you. “Nobody beats up the Guardians except me!”

The alien made a noise, probably telling you to piss off in its native tongue, and reared up upon its hind legs toward you to attack. But before it could strike, you shot two more rounds into its mouth, the beams slowing it down enough for you to throw your blaster aside, and slash at its limbs. You dance around, slashing, parring, ducking as its remaining parts came to attack you, but one by one, you cut at the limbs until there was none left, and with a battle cry, and covered in the blood of the wanted alien criminal, you plunged the sword into its chest.

“Glad that’s over,” Rocket wiped at his forehead. “I’m beat.”

Drax laughed. “You barely did anything!”

Rocket rolls his eyes. “I’m going to find where Groot went off to…”

Gamora slowly picked herself up from the ground. She rubbed at her back, wincing. “Thank you, _________,” she grabbed her other sword, and looked to yours, which was covered in gore. “You’re cleaning that.”

You look to where Peter lays. He’s as dirty as ever, probably desperately needs a bath. But not as much as you do; you’re soaked, your clothes, however well-loved are probably beyond saving and you wonder why you’re thinking about dirt. Probably because you’re deep in it, since you’ve clearly gone against his wishes, and gone straight into battle.

“I –,”

“I can’t save you,” Peter tells you, softly, “Even though I want to, baby…you can more than well save yourself. And me.” He looks away, and takes a deep breath.

Slowly, you cross toward your boyfriend, Star-Lord, and leaning down, you wipe your hand on your pants, and then hold it to him. “Not everything in the world is fragile,” you haul Peter to his feet, and eyeing his lips, place yours upon them. “Especially me. It’s okay.” You don’t say anything about those who were fragile, who had passed before their time, before he had a chance to say important things, before they could say them. Instead, you clutch Peter close to you, and grip him tight until you feel your eyes watering. “I love you.”

Withdrawing, Peter’s got a cocky smile upon his lips. There’s some blood in his moustache and facial scruff, and he utters, “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any requests, find me on Tumblr at @susiephalange, or [@phalangewrites](https://phalangewrites.tumblr.com/request_conditions) ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ✿


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